“Dude, Where’s My Laugh Laundry?”

I know the pressing question on your minds must be, “Dude (the feminine is Dudette), where’s my Laugh Laundry??” The short month of February had way too many celebrations with overlapping decorations…. I know yada, yada, yada. There was Saint Valentine’s Day, then the red hot feast of St. Blaize (me late parents anniversary), the late, great Beatle George Harrison’s 74th birthday (OMG!), and all the usual Mardi Gras madness. At least March will be on time as I’m doing double duty with two months for the price of one. Wait, there is no price? My bad.

Rosie Rocks Irish Mardi Gras!

Without further ado, I’d like to publicly announce the wiener, er, winner of the “Name That Gnome” contest: Congrats to my neighbor Creesh. She really wanted to win this folks. She kept making suggestions –even her hubby chimed in with a few of his own. (Oh, and she totally tried to bribe me with an incredible gnome calendar purchased on her recent vacation.) Since she already lives in my hood she has received her “generous” prize package. Yeah, right.

But it was her wee poetic endeavor that really sealed the deal for me:

The gnome with no name, it’s such a shame,
With his purpley hat above
Thus, I dub thee Sir Gnomeo the Romeo,
Dedicated to the Summer of Love!

Thank you to all the gnome-naming entrants who emailed or phoned me. Bettah luck next time!

Does anyone remember the poetry I concocted for Valentine’s Day five years ago? (Best to forget so that this year’s won’t sting as much) Here is the 2017 version:

Not so long ago in a galaxy not that far away-
(probably Berkeley)

I told my hubby what I’d like for Valentine’s Day-
“I need some zing & I need some bling,”
“Howzabout you buy me a glammed-up ring?”

I heard my hubby holler, “Ka-ching!” “Ka-ching!”
But baby he gave me that pricey ring.

This year he avoided the Mother of Minor Kerfluffles-
Cupid arrived with a TRUNK brimming with chocolate French truffles!-

If deep down in my heart he wishes to remain-
Next year I’ll get chocolates with a VAT of French champagne!!

(Our Doggy Diva desired some bling of her own. Like a be-jeweled canine collar, she did. Daddy was both cheap and sorry, Rosie Colleen. But her lovely lips began to pucker as her daddy handed her that bargain-rate Peanut Butter Puppy Sucker.)

Mardi Gras was gone in a flash, then came the feast day where they cover your forehead with ash, St Patrick arrived with a wee gang of leprechauns, then my fave radio station in Berkeley had a 12 hour Grateful Dead Marathon. Like far out. My brother Billy Danny attended a St. Paddy’s festival in the city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Lots of Irish live in that city. They brew a whole lot o’ beer in that town. And it’s NOT green either, although many feel a wee bit green after drinkin’ this festive brewski . A photo of Billy Danny features a naughty-looking leprechaun leaning on his shoulder. He thinks that lep advised him to have a wee too many Irish refreshments. Methinks that stinks. Me bro is lookin’ good, I say. Laugh Laundry Sneak Peek: Next year ladies, he’s going to wear his manly kilt!

March still has a few days remaining, however, while zee Easter bunnies are parading all over the place. (Rosie Colleen is hoping-hopping for a Cadbury Bunny commercial try-out.) Be careful out there if you don’t wish to multiply. There was yet another birthday in March that was so worth celebrating: Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead is now 77. OMG, how can that be? Birthdays are hopefully gonna happen, but remember that you are NEVAH too old to rock & roll. Right, Henry?